Mexico - Day Eleven: Homeward Bound

Cancun

Tulum

Up in plenty of time, as I hadn’t really unpacked.  Only my bathing suit still needs to be put in a plastic bag, as it’s still damp.  I have one last breakfast of fresh tropical fruit, accompanied by a final hot chocolate, and I’m off via shuttle to the airport.  My suitcase excites the curiosity of the customs inspector and I’m pulled aside for a summary go-through.

Chichén Itzá 

       Then it’s just the usual hurry-up-and-wait.  I get to read quite a bit of the book I brought with me to read at night, not realizing I’d be far too tired for that.  Standing in line to board, I talk with a man who, when asked what he does, waves an arm around the room at all the other men in line and says “I’m in the auto business, like all these people”.  I guess the industry has truly counted on cheap labor from south of the border after all.  We joke about being pulled aside for a pat-down, which he dreads, and I cheerfully say “I’ve already given”.  And yet... as I hand over my ticket to board, I’m selected randomly for yet another search... this one far more long and invasive, including an inspection up my pant legs.  When I do manage to board, my new friend’s already seated in business and I mutter to him, “You owe me a drink!” as I pass.  Once we’re up in the air, the flight attendant comes down the aisle, leans over and asks me what I would like to drink, courtesy of the man in Business Class.  I don’t know his name and I’ll never see him again, but he was a man of honor.
       We land in Detroit among gusty winds announced by the pilot while still over Mexico.  Good thing the flight wasn’t delayed because one hour after landing, as I brush my teeth at home in Ann Arbor, I hear the tornado sirens go off.  The TV weather shows the winds passing northwest of town, but I’m too tired to care and, having flushed the toilet paper down the toilet and brushed my teeth with tap water (two things I longed to do these past ten days), I slip between the sheets of my own bed and fall asleep almost immediately, dreaming of all the new old wonders I’ve seen.

Uxmal

TAKE-AWAYS

Popocatepetl

Palenque

Well, I needn’t have worried about traveling through
Mexico solo.  Everyone was adorable, with the exceptions of the Aeromexico agent in Villahermosa and of Señora at the hotel in Teotihuacan.
       My system of traveling and resting on even days and of poking around the ruins and other sights on odd days worked well.
       And my instinct about competent guides proved spot on.  From the younger Ana, Jaime and Alec to the venerable Jorge and Victor, they were all full of facts as well as stories to tell your grandchildren.
       The food was great, the hotels comfortable, some even luxurious.  I saw different kinds of landscapes and was amazed how much the climate changed over the short distance between Yucatán and Chiapas.
       But it was truly the people who made this trip so rewarding yet simple at the same time.  With a special thank you to Luis, who shall remain a friend.
       Tulum was a great introduction:  limited in scope but a hint of things to come.  Chichén Itzá was the most imposing, thanks to all the restoration work already done.  Between the compactness of the ruins, the tour of the old hacienda and the friendship of Luis and Jorge, Uxmal gave me the best idea of what a Maya community would have been, and made me feel as if I were staying with friends.  Palenque was a tropical version of the Yucatán ruins, with slightly different decorative touches and more flora and fauna.  Teotihuacan was vast, powerful, and provided the most frescoes, complete with their original colors... a veritable city.  Each site was a different part of the puzzle of ancient Mesoamerica.
       As I traveled over long distances by road, I saw no immigrant caravans moving north.  In fact, I met many people who had lived all or a good part of their childhood in the States and had chosen to “come home” (their words, not mine) to Mexico to create a job and found a family.  No wall is needed on America’s southern border.
       Mexico is truly an excellent neighbor.



https://www.sfgate.com/mexico/mexicomix/article/Olmecs-to-Toltecs-Great-ancient-civilizations-of-2387656.php

Article for Chichén Itzá:
https://mayanpeninsula.com/chichen-itza

Teotihuacan

Mexico - Day Ten: Teotihuacan

Teotihuacan - Pyramid of the Sun

Fits and starts of sleep, but after dawn I’m rewarded with colorful birds in the tree above the wasteland outside my window... and more than a dozen hot-air balloons gliding over Teotihuacan.  I wish I’d known that was an option!
       Marcella (Abuelita’s real name) has arranged for a guide.  When she offered, I was worried he might be in line with the hotel’s other disappointments, but he turns out to be good.  Alec (his name) arrives at 8:30 and we walk around the site’s fencing to the entrance.  He’s an official guide, as was his father for 35 years.
       On the way, Alec gives me some background.  From long before 250 B.C. a people whose name is not certain lived here in Teotihuacan.  Then a volcano wiped everything out.   After that came the Quiquilcas, who grew to number 250,000, making this the largest city in the pre-Columbian Americas and at least the sixth largest city in the world in its time.  So many people eventually affected the environment to the point that problems arose.  Their solution?  A huge sacrifice to the gods:  3,000 poor souls, all volunteers.  After all, Teotihuacan is a Nahuatl (Aztec) name that means “the place where the gods were created”.
       It obviously didn’t work.  By the time the Aztecs rose, Teotihuacan was already in ruins.

Avenue of the Dead, with Pyramid of the Sun on the left and various temples on both sides

Quinquensen

The first building we see is the Temple of the Sun.  Unlike Chichén Itzá, it has only one entrance and one set of steps, on the west side.  Originally it was painted in blue (made from lapis lazuli), red from cinnabar and yellow from a local flower.  With those three primary colors, all the other colors could be made:  green, orange...

Tlaloc, the rain god

       The temple, a pyramid, is square, measuring 225 meters (738') per side, as big as the Giza Pyramid in Egypt but much lower.  It rises 65 meters high, plus 5 additional meters for the altar, for a total height of 70 m, a multiple of this people’s sacred number:  7.  Alec asks if I want to climb the 245 steps, or just the 48 steps of the Pyramid of the Moon.  I choose the moon.  Inside the Sun Pyramid, six meters down (20'), the archaeologists found a tunnel which winds its way, like a snake, to four tombs around a central space, forming the sacred flower, the quinqunsen.  Based on a workday of ten hours, it probably took 140 yrs to build this pyramid.
       Then we head down the Avenue of the Dead, so named because it was here that those 3,000 people were sacrificed, a few at each of the many temples on either side, each dedicated to a different god.  Some temples have old wall frescos with colors still visible, such as one on the east side that depicts a yellow puma with red decorations all around it and huge claws.
       At the far end of the Avenue stands the Pyramid of the Moon, which I have vowed to climb.  Each of the 48 steps is about 20 cm high (8"), higher than the ones of the Pyramid of the Sun.  Luckily for me, the last two flights of steps are off-limits and the ones above that are now non-existent.  The total height of this pyramid is 50 m (164') and it, too, is square:  150 m to a side (almost 500‘).  The surprise is that there are six other pyramids inside it, plus this outer one making seven, again the sacred number here.  The view from the platform is stunning, although a group of about twenty people are impervious to it, sitting crosslegged in a circle meditating near the upper steps.  A different kind of religion.  I’d rather look out over everything, including a mound to the east, covered with vegetation, which is probably yet another ruin in hiding.

Parrot

Owl

       We visit the Palace of Quetzalpapálotl, built around 450-500 A.D., again over an earlier building.  The name is made up of the Nahuatl words quetzalli (precious feather) and pāpālōtl (butterfly).   Its patio is surrounded by pillars carved with different birds:  parrots, of which there are many in the region, and owls, the symbol of protection at night.  Each figure stands for something.  Circles are water, triangles are the Earth, spirals the wind and flames the firs.  All four elements.  Even way back then.
       In the Palace of Jaguars, wall decorations include a jaguar with a conch shell to call the faithful.  And the colors are still very visible.  In addition, there are more symbols.  For instance, the five-pointed star is Venus, with a double snake tongue sticking out to show the duality of all:  sun/moon, life/death, light/darkness...
       There is even a Temple of the Plumed Conches (caracoles emplumados).  I think the "feather" part just looks like the folds on the open side of the shell, but what do I know?

       I buy a locally-made obsidian pendant (obsidian is native here) so I can have one souvenir of my trip and also look at the sun without burning my eyes (Alec taught me that little secret).  I’ll hang it in one of my windows back home.  And it only costs about a dollar.

Palace of Jaguars

Our tour done, Alec points me in the right direction and we part ways.  I’m so glad I added these ruins to the others in the Yucatán Peninsula.  Teotihuacan was the largest urban center of Mesoamerica before the Aztecs, almost 1000 years prior to their era.  And now I can add it to the other ancient places I’ve visited.
       It’s a long walk back to the hotel, and breakfast.  Abuelita calls Edmundo while I eat, and he comes to drive me to the airport hotel, us conversing in Spanish all the long way, although there are parts I don’t get.  Another abrazo (hug) and I’m back in the 21st century.
       And that’s when the big problem starts.  When I ask the hotel’s concierge to confirm tomorrow morning’s return flight for me, he looks at my itinerary and announces I’m not leaving until the day after tomorrow.  A mistake has been made.  A trip to Terminal 2 doesn’t help; only a call to the 800 number will.  Too much noise on the airport phone, so back to the hotel on the shuttle.  From my room, I can’t get through.  After almost an hour on hold, I go down to ask the concierge for help.  And there, by the elevators, are some pay phones I hadn’t noticed.  And that works.  For a tidy sum, which I intend to have reimbursed, I have moved my ticket up to tomorrow morning.  Phew!
       All that’s left to do is a swim in the pool, a shower, a seafood dinner, and bed.  Tomorrow I’ll sleep in my own bed.

Temple of the Moon

Mexico - Day Nine: On to the Big City

Ike the Iguana

Early to bed, early to rise.  But it must be past 6 a.m. because the sun is up.  I get some breakfast - my only meal until tonight - and bring some fruit back to my room, which I end up sharing with Ike the Iguana on my patio.
       Then it’s off.  This time my driver is Nicolas, or just Nico.  It takes two hours (all in Spanish) to get to Villahermosa, the capital of the state of Tabasco.

Popocatépetl

       At the airport, it all starts to fall apart.  The Aeromexico Airlines agent tells me with a shrug and in a very matter-of-fact voice that “no hay vuelta” - there’s no flight.  She says “mañana” - tomorrow, which is not an option because that would mean I don’t get to see Teotihuacan, which is my whole reason for flying to Mexico City in the first place.  Plus I’d lose my money for tonight’s hotel so I tell her that’s not good enough.  When pushed, she suggests “try Interjet”... and points absent-mindedly to her right.
       Luckily I’d asked Nico to come in with me, just in case.  He pleads my case, but to no end because no hay vuelta, period.  Then he waits in the Interjet line with me to buy a ticket (that’s two now, Aeromexico’s and this one).  Luckily the man in front of me doesn’t get the last seat, and I even get a choice of aisle or window.
       I say good bye to Nico, with much gratitude.  The flight leaves on time and even gets into Mexico City early... and a good hour earlier than if I’d had my original flight, so I miss rush hour traffic in the capital.  During the flight, I enjoy the company of my row-mate Marilu, a young Mexican business administration graduate on her way back to Toronto and her Canadian boyfriend.
       I also get a balcony view of two of Mexico’s active volcanoes.  The upright Popocatépetl is the most active in the country... and it erupts again on March 19, only a week after I fly over it.  Nearby is Ixtaccíhuatl, the Sleeping Lady shaped by four individual snow-capped peaks depicting the head, chest, knees and feet of a sleeping female when seen from east or west.  In Aztec mythology, Ixtaccíhuatl was a princess who fell in love with one of her father's warriors, Popocatépetl.  This Ixtaccihuatl, however, is not sleeping but rather sending out smoke from at least a dozen vents.  She hasn’t erupted in more than a century, yet all is brown around her.

Ixtaccihuatl

Thanks to a tip from Marilu, rather than venturing out into the streets, I pay for an “authorized” taxi inside the airport (and I strongly recommend this tip to other travelers).  “It’s safer,” she tells me.  Which is how I meet Edmundo, my second knight in shining armor of the day.  Because after we wend our way half an hour around the city limits of Mexico City, the hotel turns out to be a disappointment.  Hotel Boutique El Jaguar stands across from the Teotihuacan ruins, yes, which is why I chose it.  But it’s really only an afterthought, some rooms over a restaurant.
       The woman who runs the hotel is gone, only Abuelita (grandma, as I think of her) is there, and there’s been a mix-up with my room.  No one speaks English, not even Madame after she’s summoned.  My Spanish isn’t up to the fight so Edmundo steps in.  After a half hour of his time, it’s cleared up.  He leaves, Madame disappears and Abuelita is left to a) replace a dead bulb in my bathroom, b) bring me a fan for the stifling room (no A/C), and c) scrape up a heaping plate of cold chicken and veggies when there’s a misunderstanding about the dinner arrangements (food she hides from Madame, who would have charged me for it, she says).  I eat some, watch some TV and turn in early... if only to end this day of bad surprises.  I, as tourist, am no longer queen... except for my two knights.

Teotihuacan

Mexico - Day Eight: Palenque

The Palace

 The night was calm except for some animal making a hard breathing sound in half-light... then nothing.  I must have dozed back off because all of a sudden it’s light.  There’s just time for an omelet on the terrace restaurant and I’m off to the ruins.

Victor, and an ancestor

Once again I’m lucky.  When the taxi pulls up to the entrance, the guide waiting is another Jorge, this one named Victor.  (He knows Jorge in Uxmal, just as Jorge knew Jaime in Chichén Itzá.)  Victor is 69, has been here since 1965, learned English from movies and learned all about the ruins from working since childhood with the archaeologists who preceded the tourists.  Sound familiar?  I’ve already paid 38 pesos ($2) entrance to the site area and will pay 75 pesos ($4) for the entrance ticket, good all day.  Victor will cost me 950 pesos ($50) for 1½ hours... even though he only let’s me go four hours later, so I definitely get my money’s worth!
       During those four hours, I’ll learn much about the Maya here in Palenque.  Chiefly that everything written in the books is wrong, according to Victor.  He points out all the symbols and images from other continents:  a menorah from Israel, a Buddha from India, clothing from Egypt, dragons from China... and as all this was built well before Columbus, the Vikings or the Conquistadors arrived, to him it’s proof of... well, that somehow those cultures came here... including perhaps King Tut.
       But first the explanation of the origin of the word Maya, which I got already in Yucatán... I believe from Luis.  Or Jorge.  Or Jaime.  Or Ana.  When the Conquistadors did arrive, they asked the natives in Spanish, “What is this place?”  To which the natives replied “Majuk” (pronounced my-yook), which means “I don’t understand”.  So the Spaniards dubbed both them and the place Maya.

Temple of the Inscriptions, with tomb of Pakal inside

       Also according to Victor, the dates of 2 BCE are wrong because a skeleton has been dated to 1,000 BCE and another in a pyramid to 3,300 BCE.  Another “mistake” - this one confirmed by DNA tests on a skeleton sent to Canada - is that the Red Queen, whose Temple we see, is, in fact, a man.  Yet another anomaly is that inside the Pakal Pyramid, aka the Temple of Inscriptions, archaeologists dug down and discovered the only sarcophagus ever found in Mesoamerica, that of King Pakal himself, whose reign lasted 70 years*. As a city-state, Palenque endured from 200 BCE to the 10th c AD, with its peak under Pakal in the 7th c AD.
       Throughout the visit, Victor points out things in multiples of seven, the sacred number for Palenque, just as nine was for Chichén Itzá and three for Uxmal.  And to back up his pan-world views, he points out an Egyptian ankh on one facade, the rounded arches à la Taj Mahal on another building, sandals like those worn by the pharaoh Ramses...  I can’t help but wonder if it’s not just the human artistic desire to create something different from the surrounding norm.

One of the Cautivos (Captives)

       Victor brings to life one courtyard used for orgies, where the important men sat around and chose which naked dancing girl they wanted to have sex with that night.  Another kind of sport from the pelota court nearby.  This courtyard also is decorated with frescoes of the “Captives”, although there’s some discussion whether they really were captive or not.
       The pelota court here has a refinement the others didn’t have because the others were for the priests and rulers only, but this one was for the people.  Victor has me sit down on the various levels of seating, each one with different dimensions.  On the top one, my back rests against the riser behind me; that’s the one for grandparents, so they can rest their weary bones.  The next one down has deeper seating; no backrest here for the parents.  The bottom level isn’t as high and not as deep; it’s for the short, small children.  This is the Maya equivalent of those comfy seats in today’s movie theaters.

     “Are you interested in more?” asks Victor.  Very much so.  And we head up a hill, past a young man painting small Maya designs to be sold to the tourists.  Up on the rise there are four buildings facing a central plaza.  Only one of them has been restored, and only partially.  It’s the Temple of the Sun, its steep steps and some of the foundations cleaned off but grass covering the corners.  Across from it, mostly covered by vegetation, is the Temple of the Moon which awaits the loving care of the archaeologists.
       Somewhere near the start of the tour, we picked up Rita, an archaeology buff from Hungary equipped with a backpack of water delivered through an ingenious sucking tube.  Her friends back home had told her about Victor, and as he’s the only grey-haired guide... She asks a few questions and he adopts her, which is fine with me.  She promises to e-mail me some of her photos (which she does).  As I depart after four hours, my feet tired and me hot, I leave the two of them together.  She’s planning to spend four more hours there; I suspect they’ll spend them together, in the rest of the three dozen buildings excavated (out of about 1,500).
       One disappointment:  the site’s museum is closed today.

Ceiba tree

Back at the hotel, it’s a salad of shrimp and mango for lunch, followed by a cantaloupe filled with vanilla ice cream, followed by a shower and a rest.  I take a walk around the property, past a lofty cieba tree, the sacred tree of the Maya.  Its tall trunk represents life, its widespread boughs the heavens and underground - at least partially - its roots are the underworld.  It’s very different from all the other trees growing in this part of Mexico.  I follow the resort’s small stream as it winds past the bungalows; everyone’s either at the ruins or the pool.  Among the trees roam two mangey cats as well as a black cerreque (agouti, a Mesoamerican guinea pig-like rodent) like the one I saw this morning, but no howler monkeys.  (I never do get a glimpse of them; they seem to have moved elsewhere.)
       A swim in the pool and it’s time for dinner.  One of their specialties here is camarones - shrimp from the Gulf that Rodrigo and I passed on our trip down.  That’s all I eat here, in one form or another, because I love them.  Tonight’s are camarones con coco - shrimp literally breaded in fresh grated coconut.  A full dozen of them, which I valiantly finish, accompanied by rice (which I leave) and two of those little bacon-wrapped veggie spear packets.  Good thing I walked and sweat off some calories today!
       Now it’s back to my bed, on sore legs, to read and sleep.

* For more on Pakal and his sarcophagus:  http://www.highonadventure.com/hoa16jan/vicki/palenque.htm

Mexico - Day Seven: On to a different ruin, state and biosphere

I'm up early, just after sunrise (so about 6:30), but the pool area has already been soundlessly mopped.  Luis comes to take me to the Maya breakfast.  Rosa (whose last name means “Rainbow”) teaches me to shape dough into tortillas.  Under her watchful eye, and encouraged by Luis, I make two of them... and they’re not too bad, if I do say so myself.  Of course, the hard part is making the dough, but at least I didn’t embarrass myself.  Meanwhile, Victor has prepared the chocolate in the Maya way, but without the traditional blood from a decapitated head.  What’s a Maya breakfast?  Pasteles (pastries), fresh fruit, tortilla with a raw egg dropped inside to cook (like into a pita bread), omelet with spinach.  I have trouble finishing.
       We walk around the homestead:  the raised garden (to protect from animals) - peppers, tomatoes, mint and oregano - the outhouse, chicken coop, washstand.  Victor has put out some old tortillas to attract the “blue jays”, who look to me more like blackbirds but do have a bluish sheen in the sunlight.  Then Luis walks me back to the spiky “arbol de la vida” (the tree of life).  It is here that Xtabay lives.  Legend says this female demon of incomparable beauty seduces men and leaves them naked, which is a surprise to them when they wake up the next morning (and also a handy excuse for staying out all night).  Under this ceiba tree, he gives me the Mayan blessing to send me on my way, and we finish with the Mayan amen: “bay ya”.
       On the way to my waiting taxi, we run into Jorge, who is as glad as I am to have the opportunity to say good-bye.  Big hugs to him, and to Luis.  I leave behind the heavy, tight-grained dark red-brown wooden doors with the Maya warrior of my home away from home.  I leave behind Luis, who went to the Simi Valley at age 19 to live with his uncle and finish school.  And Jorge, who, from his early teens, learned archaeology from the archaeologists digging in the ruins and English from Frank Sinatra records, and with whom I sang under the Maya arches of the ruins.  And Prospera, last night’s waitress who kept me company in Spanish, even though I didn’t understand everything and who’s been here since 1989.  And the mourning doves, the contortionist trees tortured into strange shapes...  This world slips into the past, but I will always remember it fondly.

Jorge

Rosa

I’m whisked off by Rodrigo from Mérida, my chauffeur for the long haul to my next destination:  Palenque.  Rodrigo lived half his life in Chicago, so his English is excellent, which is a good thing because I don’t think I could keep up a conversation in Spanish for seven hours, even with the practice I’ve been getting since I arrived in Mexico.
       After a loop to the north to catch the M180 highway, we head southwest until we reach the Gulf Coast, transitioning from the Yucatán into Campeche.  We reach Champotón and turn due south, inland.  There begins an area Rodrigo does not want to drive through after nightfall.  Evidently, there are banditos who attack cars and semi-trucks to rob them.  For protection, the semis have taken to forming caravans to cross this stretch together, but even then sometimes the robbers’ cars cut off the last semi in the caravan.  For someone brought up in Chicago, Al Capone’s crime city by reputation, Rodrigo seems to have a healthy respect for the danger.  I doubt if he’ll make it back through in time though, but he’s promised his wife he’ll stop overnight at a motel if it gets dark first.
       We cross a sliver of the state of Tabasco, edge around the northern border of Guatemala and slip into Chiapas.  The earth is black now, not red.  The road rises and falls, twists and turns, with hills in the distance, the beginning of the southern Sierra Madre mountain range that links up the Andes with the Rocky Mountains.  There is greenery here, and cows grazing... and actual rivers!  A bit like rural Michigan.  Small, very rustic stands sell everything in the towns we cross, including cockteles at a tiny booth that - presto! - becomes a cockteleria, a cocktail lounge.

Palenque

 My destination, Palenque, lies just inside Chiapas.  The Spanish there is more mumbly and the people more laconic.  Fewer smiles, more business.  This hotel is called the Chan-Kah, which means “small village”.  It’s more rustic than the two Lodges, more like a 50's resort (actually built in 1971) and does seem to form a little village among the lush vegetation.  My room turns out to be a small bungalow above a small stream called the Michol, all just for me, with a shaded patio and banana trees and other tropical greenery just outside my big window.  Howler monkeys settling in for the night greet me loudly.  To misquote Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, I’m definitely not in Yucatán any more.  This is the jungle.
       I get off to a bad start when I lie down on the bed to stretch away the miles.  My back begins to itch, then sting.  When I look in the mirror, there’s a big red welt.  I look at the bed and see a tiny red ant.  I guess it’s only fair; I did lie on him.  But I kill him anyway, and his friend nearby, too.  Then I go on the patio, turning the deadbolt so I won’t be locked out... but when I go to close the door later, the deadbolt won’t go back in.  Soon I have two workers in my room:  a maid armed with Baygon bug spray (which later kills a huge roach-like thing on the ceiling) and a handyman who has to remove the deadbolt and put on a new one.  Problems solved.
       I’m tired from doing nothing, so after a dinner of camarones con ayo (garlic shrimp) and a piña colada, it’s sleep for me.

Mexico - Day Six: Uxmal with George/Jorge

The Dwarf's Pyramid

After the best night’s sleep yet, I’m already awake when Luis dutifully comes to wake me at 7:30.  Throw on my clothes, just time for a hot chocolate (it is Mexico, after all!) and off across the street to the ruins.  Very convenient; that’s why I’m at this hotel, not a different one.
       And there, waiting for me - oh surprise! - is my guide.  George.  Well, Jorge.  I kid him about having put the old people with the old people... but only after an hour or so with him.  Turns out he’s two years younger than me, to his surprise.  I try to keep up with him; he’s as nimble as a goat on these old Maya stone steps.
       And these are the only ruins I’ll be able to climb extensively (except for Teotihuacan).  The rest - Tulum, Chichén Itzá, Palenque - are off-limits, either because of potential damage to them or past fatal falls by tourists.

Nun'ss Quadrangle

Snake head & tail, Nun's Quadrangle

       Unlike the Peruvians, who sculpted their stones to fit together without leaving room for a sheet of paper to pass (and I tried), the Maya used mortar made of water, charcoal, “white earth” and honey... a second new use of bees for me.  At Uxmal, the stones are fitted together with much decoration, including stone latticework - another difference from the other sites; the latticework is meant to symbolize water.  Jorge points out the snake on one wall of the Nun’s Quadrangle, a feature the show last night highlighted.  Each of the four platforms forming the Quadrangle is different, built at different times, with a different symbolism.  There are even some male figures sticking out of the facade of one, and Jorge explains that they symbolize the astronomers whose role was vital in Maya culture.  The East and West buildings are the most striking, with intricate decoration:  heads of Chaac, stylized Maya huts, columns, serpents, flowers, the traditional Maya arches...

       The concept of the keystone to hold up an arch was known to the Maya.  There are even two triangular arches (looking like pine trees) in the Governor’s Palace, which Jorge and I climb now.  From that platform you have a view out over much of the complex:  the Dwarf’s Pyramid, of course, and the Nun’s Quadrangle, but also the pelota court and a small simple temple with turtles on the upper frieze (thus the name the House of the Turtles).  And in front of the Palace stands a double-headed jaguar throne from which the governor must have ruled.
       As we gaze at all these wonders Jorge explains about the region, called Puuc, meaning “hills”.  Explains that the owl is the symbol of wisdom, water or death; take your pick.  I tell him on Easter Island, the symbol of wisdom is the sea turtle, which is their guide, and that’s why I have on a T-shirt with a turtle, given to me there, as I was seen to be wise.
       Next to the Palace rises the Great Pyramid, with a temple at its top.  Only one side has been restored; the rest lies partially obscured by earth and undergrowth, as was everything when this site was rediscovered.  The stairway is said to represent a snake, and at the solstices (December 21, and then June 21 in reverse) the sun casts the shadow of a snake (as at Chichén Itzá) and the people stopped working to celebrate the event.

       Beyond the Great Pyramid is a building dubbed the dovecote
by the archaeologists because of its many niches.  It was probably a residential complex, but still stands partially in ruins, its triangular peaks rising from stone-columned walls.
       On the way back, we visit the pelota court, much smaller than the one in Chichén Itzá but with a bigger and much lower hoop.  “It’s Maya pelote”, Jorge tells me, “not Toltec”.  Here, too, they played with their hips, elbows and knees; no hands.  The game was seen as the struggle between the forces of light and darkness.
       As we pass the Dwarf’s Pyramid on our way out, Jorge tells me its story, or rather its legend.  There was once an old woman, a witch, who went out into the forest.  She found a big egg and brought it home, keeping it warm in blankets.  Finally it hatched, and inside was a dwarf, whom she loved and raised.  One day, for some reason, the dwarf wanted to rule over everyone.  Not wanting to be replaced, the  Governor set him two chores.  The first was to build a pyramid in one day, but his mom, being a witch, made a deal with the evil powers.  And when the Governor woke up the next day, there was the Pyramid of the Dwarf!  The second chore was to break 100 cocoyoles, a small hard fruit, with his head.  But again his witch mother helped, making him a helmet out of a tortoise shell.  The dwarf broke open 99 of the cocoyoles, and then challenged the Governor:  “You do one and I’ll give you your realm back.”  The Governor tried... and died.  So the dwarf became the ruler of the land.  And his pyramid remains to this day:  the Pyramid of the Dwarf, also called the Magician’s Pyramid.

Hand of the Creator

       It was this pyramid that brought me here.  It’s the only one, not only in Mesoamerica but in the entire world, that has rounded sides and an elliptical base.  In Mayan, the name Uxmal translates to “three times built”, but there are actually four smaller, nested pyramids within the one we see today.  The first, Temple I, dates back to the 6th century A.D. and is exposed on the west side of the structure, at the pyramid’s base.  If you were allowed to climb this pyramid, you could enter the second temple, Temple II, through an opening in the upper part of the eastern staircase.  On either side of the staircase are twelve statues of Chaac, making 24 in all... perhaps the hours of the day.  The whole thing, together, viewed from the east, forms a complex work of art.  One that struck Frank Lloyd Wright as “some of the finest expressions of art and architecture in the world”.  And I couldn’t agree more.
       One detail that struck me:  a red hand traced on a wall.  Jorge explains that it is called The Heavenly Hand or The Hand of the Creator... meaning a god.  But it reminds me of the human hands I’ve seen traced on walls in the prehistoric caves of central France.  I always took them to be the artist’s signature, the hand of the artistic creator.  Maybe it’s a bit of both?

Pyramid of the Magician, or House of the Dwarf 

Breakfast now and a rest.  Then Luis picks me up for a Jeep ride around the old plantation, founded in 1673.  Fruit trees are still grown:  orange, lemon, lime, other tropical fruits.  Pineapples as well.  The original owners were named Shu, yet another Chinese-sounding Maya name.  After the Mexican Revolution, the present owners were allowed to keep their land when many others had their property taken away by the government as punishment for treating their workers as virtual slaves.  Both Jorge and Luis say the present owners are good people.

     Luis ushers me around what’s left of the hacienda.  It once had a sugar mill and a noria to provide fresh water.  And a chapel.  Now all that’s left are remnants from which tangled trees with long roots grow, even high up on some walls.  We climb up to the top of an observation tower from which we can see the ruins of Uxmal in the distance, rising among the trees like something out of a dream.  Finally, we walk over to a thatched area where the driver has set up fresh fruit at tables made from gnarled tree roots.

Back at the Lodge, it's time for a cool-down, a swim, a shower and dinner, then back to the room with a mojito to go with a slice of Chocolate cake colorfully decorated with flowers and the Mayan thank you:  Yom bo'otik.  I feel I should be thankig them!

View of Uxmal from the old hacienda

Mexico: Day Five: On to Uxmal

Uxmal

After breakfast, Netto (father of driver Josué) is ready and waiting.  We spend the whole trip (3 hours via Mérida) talking in air-conditioned comfort... and mostly in Spanish.  He explains that the first little town we drive through, Pisté, is where all the people who work at the ruins and The Lodge live.  He tells me that people used to be paid 80 pesos ($4) for 11 hours of work; the new president raised that to 120 pesos.  That leads us into politics, and he says people are very hopeful that Mexico’s new President Obrador, who is originally from a small village in Tabasco State nearby, will make life sweeter for them.  As hard as I try, he won’t trade presidents with me.  All this in Spanish.  My brain’s fried by the time we arrive in Uxmal (pronounce oosh-mahl).

Luis and Jorge

       Luis, from concierge and customer service, greets me at the curbside and takes me in hand.  He’ll become my new best friend by the time I leave.  At the “desk” - an open air area under a thatched Maya roof - he introduces me to an older man - George - whom he says has worked here forever and knows everything.  I assume he’s retired and just drops by to spend time with his friends.
       I’m early for check-in, but a room has been cleaned already - an end room in a bungalow by the pool, with features and decoration much like its sister hotel in Chichén Itzá.  Same owner, same rich family.  Here again, no clock, no phone in the room.  You’re supposed to just relax and smell the... what kind of flower would you smell in Yucatán?
         I spend some time just relaxing... and sorting through old photos and erasing poor ones because I discovered the “new” photo card, the one I had brought along for when the current one is full, is in fact already full itself!  I forgot to check before leaving.  Silly me.
       Then it’s 4:00 and Luis comes to pick me up for the planetarium.  Turns out this is the same show as the one in Chichén Itzá, the one I didn’t have time to see.  The gods of tourism are smiling down on me.  Luis walks me over, although it’s very nearby (doesn’t want to lose one of his two paying guests, I guess).  He buys the ticket for me, accompanies me inside... and settles in the seat next to me.  We’re the only spectators.  Not the busy season yet.  The show - in Spanish - is taken from the Popol Vuh, the Mayan creation narrative that begins with the exploits of the Hero Twins Hunahpú and Xbalanqué, and includes Kukulkan and Chaac the rain god.  I find I can understand all but a few words.  Good for the ego.

The Nun's Quadrangle

       Then just a quick drink and it’s time for the Sound and Light Show.  I buy my ticket (103 pesos - $5) and as I stand in line, my new BFF Luis shows up.  Oops!  He had bought a ticket for me, and I forgot.  (Luckily they reimburse him... I mean me... well, us.)
       The walk alone through the semi-dark (it’s 6:45 p.m.) is magic.  I seem to have the place all to myself as I make my way past the Dwarf’s Pyramid to the platform of the Nun’s Quadrangle.  A small tour group is already there, taking up all the front row, but I move a chair down next to them on the far end.  A few minutes later a handsome barbudo arrives - white hair, white beard.  I don’t know who started speaking first but I learn he’s retired, like me, and, like me, lives six months here (Mérida) and six months there (Mexico City).
       Compared to the show in Chichén Itzá, this one is disappointing.  The colored lights are good, but there are no special effects.  The main problem is the sound:  too loud, speakers badly oriented from the side so there’s an echo, voices blurry and overwhelmed by the accompanying music most of the time, so I really don’t understand much of the two stories:  one about Chaac the rain god, the other about some princess.
       I wish I’d invited the barbudo for a drink back at the hotel across the street, but I didn’t.  So it’s dinner alone for me:  a delicious grouper for one and a glass of white wine... then to bed.

P.S.  A detail for you plant lovers:  The plant I’m seeing all around in the garden of The Lodge at Uxmal is Sansevieria.  In English it’s also called mother-in-law’s tongue (in French also: langue de belle-mère), but in Spanish it’s called lengua de vaca (cow’s tongue).  And yes, there’ll be a quiz at the end of the hour.

Mexico: Day Four, Part 2 - Chichén Itzá at sunrise

Las Monjas (the Monastery)

Back at the hotel, the waiter sees to my needs:  first a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice.  Then he suggests an omelet - with a bit of everything:  cheese, onions, ham, even champiñones (mushrooms, or champignons in French), which Mayas don’t eat because they don’t grow here.  He says he’ll trade out the refried beans for half a nicely ripe avocado... but it’s Mexico so the beans come as well anyway.
       As I eat, the blackbirds dart in and pick off leftovers from cleared plates.  I find it funny but the staff doesn’t and either removes the plates or coifs them with those silver serving covers.  But the birds are smarter still and know there’s a hole iin the middle of the cover’s top, which they feed through until, defeated, the waiters clear the plates to the kitchen.  (It’s also mating season, so some fine dancing and feather-shaking goes on everywhere across the park.)
       My neighbors, Justin and Babette, who have a rental car, are at breakfast too, and we decide to try the cenote nearby.  It’s called Ik Kil, which means “the place of the winds”.  There are winding steps leading down - waaaay down - and they’re very slippery when wet.  Justin decides to be the Goods Guardian and Photographer while Babette and I fray our way through the Young Things on Spring Break.  The water is opaque and cool, vines hang down almost to the water’s surface, and about five waterfalls keep the cenote full.  It’s fun to swim underneath them... like swimming in the rain.  What’s less fun is climbing up the ladder behind one of several overweight young women in a thong bathing suit.  So little - almost nothing - left to the imagination!  I should gouge my eyes out!
       I give in to the urge to jump in the water from the platform 16 feet (5 meters) up.  Justin gets it on film.  And as I don’t kill myself, I do it a second time, to the guard’s slightly surprised “Otra vez?!” (“Again?!”) and to applause from on-lookers.  Or so Jason tells me when I surface.  Should have held my nose because some water got up it, and I cough a bit.  Obviously I didn’t touch bottom, as the water’s 150 feet deep (46 m)!
       We head back to the hotel where I just sit on the porch and enjoy where I am.  Life is good.

After they head back into Chichén Itzá for a hot extra visit, Justin and Babette invite me to join them for dinner at 7.  I choose the poc chuc, pieces of pork marinated in bitter orange.  I get it with guacamole and of course... refried beans.  As a starter, the proverbial chips and salsa, which are very good.  (Chips throughout the trip will prove iffy, depending on the batch you get.)  We polish off my bottle of red wine from last night.

El Caracol, from the hotel

     Justin suggests a nightcap at the bar, where it appears there are telescopes.  Turns out neither telescope works but the mojito is better than yesterday’s poor excuse.  Of course, this time I specify “más menta y mucho limón verde” (more mint and lots of lime).

       After a walk back through the darkness, a black dog appears on my doorstep and I end up giving him my just-in-case roll from dinner.  He sniffs but won’t accept it, so I leave it on the doorstep.  Two minutes later, both roll and dog are gone.  And I’m off to sleep.